


Let there be light, let there be light, let me be right

by mooridayo



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (not the sexy kind but like literally), Airplanes, Brief Moments of Angst, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sleeping Together, Sunrises, Sunsets, Trains, happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 06:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14611479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooridayo/pseuds/mooridayo
Summary: "One by one, they blinked into existence, and filled the sky with something almost, but not quite, like life, trembling and pure."On plane rides and train trips, from one country to the next, Yuuri and Victor watch the skies and track the growth of their relationship.written for phanpymanaphy for the prompt: "passports"





	Let there be light, let there be light, let me be right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phanpymanaphy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanpymanaphy/gifts).



> hello!
> 
> in around may last year, phanpymanaphy gave me a fun prompt to work with and I took approximately a million years to respond with a full fic. also, there's no mention of passports, like, at all in the finished story. I apologise for that I am a snail.
> 
> the title comes from the song "Sun" by Sleeping At Last :)

**Fukuoka, Japan.**

_The best thing about window seats_ , thought Victor, as he blinked slowly awake,  _is the view_. Beside him, through the glass and across a cloudless sky awash with brilliant hues of red, amber, and gold, a thin band of light peeked slowly over the horizon; the morning sun was rising over Japan.

_Eos._  He’d stayed up late the night before – hard at work, his little fold-out table a mess of pen and paper – and so the word had come to him instantly, unbidden. _The Dawn_.

He cast a brief glance down at his notes, where he’d spent the better part of the night working on a new programme. In a corner of the page, next to a series of complicated figures and notations, was a doodle of a cheerful little sun. As an afterthought, he’d given it a pair of shades as well – modelled, of course, after the ones he used himself. Finally, at the very top of the page, was the name he’d come up with for the programme itself: “On Love – Eros”.

Except he’d spelt it “Eos” at first – because his flight was very, very long, and he was very, very tired – turning the Greek god of love and desire into the goddess of the morning instead. And although he had been quick to correct his mistake, the idea had somehow stuck with him in the end (and hence the doodles had come along, soon after).

For there was, wasn’t there, something of the sunrise encapsulated within the dance? Something at once bold and beautiful – that burned steadily stronger and brighter, like a flame that simply refused to be put out; with every step, a spark, and every spin, a spreading heat. Try as you might, you could not look away.

Outside, the sky was starting to lighten considerably. Victor turned back to face the window, and smiled as a new thought occurred to him.

_There is something of the sunrise in Yuuri as well._

Because he’d felt it himself, all those months ago, when he’d danced with the man at that banquet in Sochi. The world had seemed golden to him that night, golden and warm, more dawn than dusk. And then it had happened again, just the day before, when he’d watched him skate an almost perfect imitation of his own _Stammi Vicino_ programme. It was a curious sensation, really, and Victor could come up with no logical explanation for it, but the moment the video ended, he had walked over to the window for a breath of fresh air, and the sky outside had appeared somehow bigger, brighter, and bluer, full of unspoken promise. And then the next thing he knew, he was packing his bags, and Makkachin’s bags too. Because this time, Victor knew, he would not let go. He did not _want_ to let go. This time, he would fly straight towards the sunrise, and he would not look away.

He reached for his phone, shifted a little to get a better angle, and snapped a photo of the view outside. Then, after fiddling for a few minutes on Instagram, he closed the app and put his phone away.

It would’ve made a good post, he was sure of it. Even the caption had already been written out (“First sunrise in Japan!!!” followed by approximately 27 sun emojis). But in the end, he’d thought better of it. There were some photos, after all, that were simply too personal to be shared.

And so, after clearing his things and folding back his little table, he settled down even deeper in his plush chair and closed his eyes. It would still be a couple of hours before the plane touched down in Fukuoka Airport, and he might as well try to catch just a few more precious minutes of sleep.

* * *

**Detroit, USA**.

The Observation Room at Fukuoka Airport was cool, quiet, and – most importantly – empty. In a far corner away from the door, half-hidden behind a row of pleasantly humming vending machines, Yuuri sat with his chin resting atop his luggage, and watched the planes fly by.

He was here far too early – outside, the sun had only just begun to set, yet his flight wouldn’t be until much, much later in the evening. And even though Yuuri knew for a fact that there was nothing at all wrong with being overly punctual, he _also_ knew just how bad things could get whenever he was left alone with his own thoughts.

Because he had an annoyingly noisy brain – had had to live with it for over a decade now – and what it liked to do, whenever it had the chance, was come up with ridiculous scenarios that, the more rational part of Yuuri knew, would never actually come true. But still the thoughts would grow, and multiply, and finally seep and settle onto his mind like a particularly stubborn stain. And once that had happened, there was nothing left to do but panic.

Unfortunately for Yuuri, it was already starting to happen.

_Detroit_ , said his brain, in its incredibly unhelpful voice, _is such a long way from home_.

_Please shut up,_ came Yuuri’s wordless response, but his anxious brain ignored him and went on regardless.

_What will happen once you get there? Will you be able to fit in? To make friends? Can you even speak the language?_

_I topped English in class last year_ , he retorted, and for a brief while his mind was silent.

With a tired sigh, Yuuri slumped even lower in his worn plastic chair. _At least_ that’s _over for now_ , he mused, but he had scarcely finished the thought when his anxiety revived itself and started on a new line of attack.

_You’ll be so lonely, won’t you_? it said. _Why did you ever think this would be a good idea? To live so far away from Hasetsu, from Mom and Dad? From Mari?_

_No, don’t say that…_

_From Vicchan?_

And at that very moment, as if on cue, a loud bark issued from the other end of the Observation Room. Yuuri heard the excited patter of four tiny, fluffy feet drawing closer and closer, and soon the barking became thankfully loud enough to drown out the rest of his intrusive thoughts.

With one final happy yelp, Vicchan rounded the corner of the row of vending machines and bounded straight towards Yuuri. Mari followed close behind, with an abandoned leash in her hands and a knowing smile on her face.

“I thought I’d find you here,” she said, as Vicchan hopped onto Yuuri’s lap, his tail wagging furiously. Yuuri looked up curiously.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s what you always do whenever you get overcome by one of those moods,” Mari replied, dropping into the seat next to him and stretching her legs as far as they could go. “You hide away where nobody can find you and worry all by yourself.”

Yuuri shot her a glance.

“ _You_ found me, though.”

“That’s because I’m your older sister. I’m special.” She shifted to her side and winked at him cheekily. “Plus, Vicchan has a good nose.”

Vicchan recognised his name and gave another delighted bark. Yuuri smiled at him, and let him play with the strap of his bag. Mari regarded the pair of them with a soft, warm look in her eyes, before continuing.

“Yuuri, I don’t know if we’re being a bother to you right now, or if you’d prefer to be left alone.” She watched her brother carefully as she spoke. “But what I do know is…you can always rely on me. On all of us. If not all the time, then at least for today. Before you go away.”

For a while, the room was silent, save for the sound of Vicchan gnawing on Yuuri’s strap, and the ever-present drone of the vending machines. The sun was lower in the sky now, and burning far brighter than before. Its rays fell in wide slats across the Observation Room, casting a muted mosaic of orange-grey, grey-orange over everything. All of a sudden, Yuuri found himself sitting in the shadows. He stared down at Vicchan, at his knees, then at his feet and the wheels of his luggage. Eventually, however, he got up and made his way over to one of the many floor-to-ceiling windows in the room, and stood flush against the sunlight. Vicchan scampered along after him.

“You aren’t bothering me at all,” he said, more to himself than to Mari. “In fact, the both of you have already helped me far more than you realise.”

And it was true. Because without Mari and Vicchan staying by his side, talking to him and barking at him and laughing with him, Yuuri knew he would’ve ended up spiralling into yet another one of his anxious episodes. And he didn’t need that right now. Not today.

He knelt down to rub Vicchan behind the ears.

“Thank you, Vicchan. You’re a good boy.”

“Woof!”

“And good boys deserve rewards, don’t they? Yes they do!”

Vicchan’s head perked up at the word “reward”, because not only was he a _good_ boy, he was a _smart_ boy too, and Yuuri knew this.

“What would you like? I’ll bring it back from Detroit.”

Almost tripping in his enthusiasm, Vicchan jumped around the room, sniffing at every vending machine, potted plant, and plastic chair, before finally arriving back at the window with Yuuri and barking at something hidden behind the clouds. By then, Mari had sauntered over to join them, and she grinned down at her brother.

“I think he wants the sun, Yuuri.”

“Eh?! Ah, sorry, Vicchan, the sun is a little…um…” He searched frantically for an excuse. “It’s too far, too high up for me to reach.”

But Vicchan simply continued barking, and turned to look at Yuuri with wide, eager eyes.

“Hmm. Maybe you can get him something similar,” suggested Mari. “Something round like the sun. And golden, too.”

Yuuri considered her words.

“You mean like, a dog biscuit?”

“Actually,” and here her voice took on a teasing edge, “I was thinking about a gold medal.”

And now Yuuri _really_ started to grow flustered, because to him a gold medal was even _more_ impossible to bring back than the sun, and anyway, Vicchan, what would you need such a thing for? You’d probably just bite on it, and even then, it’s not as if it’s particularly tasty or anything (“Or at least I don’t think it is,” Yuuri added hastily, as a disclaimer. “I’ve never tried to eat it before myself…”). All Vicchan said in response was, “woof!”, and he kept on whining and whimpering and snuffling until Yuuri finally relented, giving the dog a firm shake of his paw to seal the deal.

All this time, Mari hid her laughter behind her hand, and when Yuuri turned around at the sound of her stifled giggles she hurried to hide her phone as well. Because sure, the camerawork was a little shaky – and if you listened closely enough, you could just about make out the occasional muffled snort – but it was a good recording of Yuuri and Vicchan, nevertheless. After checking one last time (discreetly, of course) that she’d managed to save it properly, Mari stepped closer to Yuuri and ruffled his hair affectionately.

“Come on then,” she said. “Mom and Dad are waiting for us downstairs.” Then, simply because she could, “I’ll race you there!”

And before Yuuri even had the chance to react, she rushed to grab his luggage and shot out of the Observation Room without a second thought.

“Wait…wait, Mari, slow down! I have stuff in there, you’ll damage the posters –”

Then he, too, was out of the room, running down the stairs two at a time, with Vicchan hot on the heels of them both, yapping noisily all the way.

She’d send the video to him, eventually. Not immediately, of course, but perhaps a few months later, when she knew he’d start to feel the pangs of homesickness. He’d need a little something to tide him through it, and only then would Mari email him the clip, along with several other photos of Vicchan and half a dozen winking emojis. And though Mari couldn’t possibly have known this at the time, Yuuri would watch the video with tears in his eyes, huddled under his blanket in his room in Detroit. And then he would go to sleep dreaming of his promise to Vicchan, and wake up bright and early the following morning for a full day of practice, brimming with determination.

But for now, however, they were no more than two siblings and a dog running wildly through an airport. And for Mari, that was enough.

* * *

**Hasetsu, Kyushu.**

With a hiss, a click, and a clatter, the train pulled smoothly out of the station and began its long, meandering journey back to the sleepy little town of Hasetsu.

“Time flies so fast,” Victor commented, leaning comfortably against Yuuri, and he was right.

For he had come in the spring, with the crisp April breeze, and the sudden icy touch of snow; in those days, flowers bloomed and perfumed the air, and everything in the world looked fresh and wild and new. And then summer had arrived, as it always did, bold and unannounced, and the days grew longer and warmer. Like cats laying down to rest after a good, hearty meal, they stretched lazily towards the evening, punctuated only every so often by brief bursts of rain.

It was a week before Yuuri’s first competition of the season – the Chugoku, Shikoku, and Kyushu Championship – and Victor had suggested a daytrip out of town to help the both of them unwind. And so they had taken the Chikuhi line to Fukuoka, and seen the castles and the museums and the shrines. In a quiet corner of a park, Yuuri had let Victor try his first taiyaki (he ate the tail first), after which, tired from all their walking, they had collapsed together on the soft, downy grass, content to lie in their own little world, and counted the birds as they flew overhead.

It was already close to evening by the time they arrived at the station again, and the busy crowd had forced them to stand close together, pressed up against the window. But Victor hadn’t minded at all, and spent most of the time snapping photo after photo of the scenery outside, as Yuuri helpfully pointed out every tiny village and glimpse of coastline, and in the distance, the layered folds of the high terraced rice fields. It surprised him, of course, to find that even after five whole years of being away, he could still vividly remember every detail of the old train journey. It surprised him even more, however, to realise that, somehow, nothing had really changed at all. Every road and tree and river they passed seemed to say to him, _We’re here, just as you remember!_ And in his heart, Yuuri answered, _Yes, I’m here, I’m home_.

The moment the crowd grew suitably thin and they could find seats for themselves, Victor had flashed one of his Professional Smiles™ at the passenger standing next to them and asked her to help him take a picture of Yuuri and himself.

“But why?” Yuuri had asked, jokingly, even as he settled into the pose, and across from him, Victor had waxed lyrical about sunsets and shadows, and the absurdly good lighting that they couldn’t _possibly_ pass up, _Yuuri_ , we have to seize this opportunity! And so the picture had been taken, the passenger thanked, and their journey had carried on.

That had all been several stations ago. Now they were only one or two stops away from Hasetsu, and the view outside the window had started to grow ever more familiar. They were alone – the last other passenger in their carriage had alighted at the last stop, and, almost immediately, Victor had scooted excitedly over to Yuuri and nestled his head in the crook of the other man’s neck. It was then that he had made his comment about the passing of time.

Beside him, Yuuri only nodded, and as he did so he felt his cheek brush against the top of Victor’s head. Only a few months before – or maybe even a few weeks – he had felt absolutely mortified at having accidentally poked that very spot in the middle of practice. But they had grown since then; or rather, their relationship had grown, budding and sprouting with the seasons, and although Yuuri had no idea how to label their present relationship, he was happy with the way things were. There, in the public privacy of their carriage, Yuuri had no qualms nuzzling back against that tuft of silver hair, and when Victor’s hand came to rest on his thigh, he instinctively moved to hold it.

“Are you nervous?” Victor asked eventually. “About next week?”

“I’m always nervous. It’s my default state.”

“So what do you usually do then, to calm down and focus?”

“Just…” He took a while to consider it. “Practise some more, I guess? It makes me feel like I’m making the most of my time and not wasting it.”

At that, Victor tensed almost imperceptibly, but Yuuri picked up on it nonetheless – on the slight twitch in his frame and the soft hitch in his breathing – and so before Victor could say anything he hurried and went on.

“And it’s the same, too, for today! Even if we weren’t actually skating or anything.” He paused, and chose his next words carefully. “Because I had fun, really I did. And it was relaxing to just be with you and not worry about the competition, even for a little while. In fact, it’s _important_ to do that. Or at least I think it is.”

As he spoke, he realised, belatedly, just how little relaxing he had actually managed to do for most of his previous competitions. In the past, he would’ve spent the week cooped up inside the rink from morning to night. Today’s trip, therefore, was something entirely new.

“If I just hold on to this peace of mind I have right now,” he continued, more quietly now, “I’m sure everything will turn out well in the end. So what I’m trying to say is…thank you. For today.”

And though the change was once again barely noticeable, Yuuri felt Victor’s short-lived moment of tension slowly melt away.

“Thank you too, Yuuri,” he replied sleepily. “I enjoyed myself as well.”

Then, with a yawn, he shifted and buried his face even deeper into the warm little nook it was in.

“Wake me up when we get to Hasetsu,” he said, before closing his eyes.

But the air-conditioning in the carriage was blissfully cool, and Victor, dozing off next to him in his soft fleece shirt, looked snug and inviting. And before he knew what he was doing, his head had already dropped to rest on top of Victor’s.

“I’ll try,” he answered sincerely, before he, too, closed his eyes, and let the measured rhythm of the train rock them both to sleep.

* * *

**Beijing, China.**

Somewhere far below the two of them, the sun was slowly setting.

Victor was sure of it, even though he was sitting in the aisle seat this time round, and could barely even see the window from where he was. What he _could_ see, however, was the way the sunlight played on Yuuri’s sleeping face: it cast him in the softest of glows, giving him a warm golden halo, and highlighted every flyaway strand of hair, as well as the round curve of his cheek. Victor recalled his own flight to Japan all those months ago, with his almost boyish excitement and romantic thoughts of sunrises, and his heart swelled at the memory.

It was about an hour or so before they were due to land in Beijing, and all around them, the cabin was beginning to buzz and thrum with life. Blankets were shrugged off and pillows kept; bleary-eyed passengers shuffled sleepily to the bathrooms; from several seats behind him, a child loudly complained that his feet were numb and begged his parents to make the plane go faster. Members of the cabin crew slid smoothly through the aisles – deftly avoiding every fallen pillow and errant outstretched foot – and offered drinks and hot towels to those passengers who still remained in their seats.

Victor nodded graciously at the stewardess who approached them, but before she could speak, he gently raised a finger to his lips.

“Shh,” he whispered. “He’s asleep.”

Beside him, Yuuri gave a light snort and shifted his body a little closer to Victor’s, in his sleep seeking a different kind of warmth than the one that now filtered through the window onto his back. Victor smiled down at him, before turning back to the stewardess and accepting the towel she proffered. Its heat was mild and pleasant, and he sighed gratefully as he felt it spread over his face and across the length of his palms.

He was, in truth, rather a little disappointed to be landing so soon. After all, it was their first flight together – their first time out of the country, in fact, sitting side by side for six whole hours as they cruised above the clouds. And so Victor – for whom every new experience, no matter how small, was a cause for joy and celebration – had wanted to spend it in a much more special way: he had wanted to order champagne, and wine – the best that Economy Class had to offer, and he had wanted to ask the cabin crew for an extra-large blanket, so that he and Yuuri could snuggle up together under it and spend the rest of the flight watching cheesy ice skating-themed romantic comedies. Because that was what couples did on flights, wasn’t it? Victor couldn’t be sure, because most of his previous plane rides had either been spent alone or with Yakov; all he had to go on was his own imagination, and, well, he imagined Yuuri very often.

But Yuuri had smiled apologetically and politely declined. He’d wanted to get in as much sleep as possible before his first proper competition in the Grand Prix Series, and the plane had barely gotten airborne before he closed his eyes, adjusted his neck pillow, and let out his first soft snore.

Of course, Victor had deflated like a flat tyre, initially. But he was a good coach – or at least, he was trying his best to be one. And in all his months with Yuuri, he had come to learn a lot about the other man – as a skater, as well as a person. To begin with, he could be surprisingly stubborn when he wanted to be, and, when it came to figure skating itself, was a perfectionist almost to a fault. If there was a jump he could not master or a step sequence that tripped him up every time, he would spend hours on end doing it again and again and again. And Victor would be there with him the entire time, talking to him, holding him, guiding him. In the days leading directly up to a competition, too, Yuuri would take care to be even more disciplined than usual, avoiding any foods that might upset his stomach and going to bed before midnight. So it was to be expected, then, that he wouldn’t particularly fancy getting drunk on a plane two days before the Cup of China. Victor understood that, and didn’t force the issue.

Because as far as Victor was concerned, the best coaches were the ones who put their students first. Who didn’t impose their own wants and expectations, but instead asked, “What do you personally want to achieve for yourself?” and then followed it with, “How might I help you do just that?” After all, every skater was different – had different personalities and led different lives – and so it wouldn’t do to force them to fit any certain mould. Rather, much like the sport they practised itself, a figure skating coach had to be fluid and flexible; they had to adapt to the needs of their students. And Victor, who had never coached anyone at all before, was actively learning to do this through his interactions with Yuuri.

So he had let him sleep, and after a while, had dozed off himself as well. (Another important thing he had learnt was the fact that Yuuri’s left shoulder was just the tiniest bit softer than his right, and therefore made an excellent pillow.) And in his dreams, they held each other close and danced across a cloudless sky plucked straight from his memories, the sunlight turning them first red, then amber, then gold.

Yet a part of him – a very small one, but a part nonetheless – still yearned to do at least _something_ to commemorate the occasion. It didn’t need to be excessive, or extravagant; there would be no surprise serenades by the cabin crew, nor roses lining the tarmac to greet them when they landed. _Perhaps another time_ , mused Victor, smiling at the thought, _but not today_. Today, all he wanted was a simple souvenir. The merest memento of their first ever flight together, and nothing more.

At that moment, he felt something brush against his shoulder. Turning, he saw Yuuri yawn, stretch, and blink confusedly at his surroundings, as if, in his sleep-addled state, he had suddenly forgotten where he was, and had expected to find himself back in his room in Hasetsu instead. Without wasting an instant, Victor reached for his phone, leaned back against Yuuri, and threw a peace sign at the camera as he snapped a shot of them both.

The sound of the camera shutter immediately grounded Yuuri back to reality, and in a voice still hoarse and heavy with sleep, he asked, “Did you just take a photo of me?”

“A photo of _us_ , you mean.”

“But I literally just woke up,” Yuuri protested. “I probably look terrible. Do I have bed hair? I bet I do.”

“You’re wearing a hat,” Victor replied cheerfully. “Nobody can tell.”

But Yuuri only flushed and continued to worry and fret about it. Eventually, however, he appeared to reach some sort of decision within himself, and, getting up, started to carefully make his way past Victor and into the aisle.

“Eh? Where are you going?” _Oh no, he hates me now_. “I’ll delete it if it really bothers –”

“I’m just going to the bathroom to freshen up,” said Yuuri, before Victor could finish his panicked sentence. Then, just to reassure him that he wasn’t mad at him, he grinned and flashed him a peace sign as well, mimicking the one Victor had done only a few minutes before.

“Just stay right there,” he said. “When I get back, we’ll take a proper one.”

And then he was gone, joining the long queue of yawning passengers lined up outside the bathroom. Victor watched him leave, and gave a small wave; from afar, Yuuri spotted him and waved back.

For there would be other flights, would there not, on a thousand other planes and to a thousand different places? An entire lifetime’s worth of aerial travel, and not only for the sake of competitions, when the stress of it all would weigh heavy upon them, like storm clouds. No, there would be other occasions – holidays and vacations, visits to friends from around the globe, and, if Victor dared to hope, perhaps someday even honeymoons as well. But of course, that was all in the future, that bright blue future, which he had glimpsed from his living room window so long ago.

Now, in the present, he was content to simply keep his phone, lie back, and count the minutes until Yuuri returned.

* * *

**Fukuoka, Japan.**

Yuuri awoke in darkness, with a sob in his throat and a name on his lips.

He had been dreaming of Vicchan again. Small, soft Vicchan, gambolling about the back garden of Yu-topia Katsuki, burying his nose in the hydrangea bushes and plunging headlong into the undergrowth in search of who-knows-what. Vicchan, yapping and nipping playfully at his feet whenever he craved attention (which was all the time). It was a dream he had often, and if Yuuri didn’t know better, he might almost believe that the fur tangled between his fingers was real, and the barking in his ears not a figment of his imagination, but reality; the past year had been no more than a dream itself, and now Vicchan was jumping in his bed, pestering him to get up, while Victor was…was…

_Where was he?_

Yuuri didn’t have time to process the thought, because at that moment a deeper, louder bark sounded from behind him, and a large brown poodle bounded into view. Vicchan gave a delighted bark, and immediately the two of them started to frolic and play with each other, rolling in the grass with their tails wagging excitedly. But this was a new scene, and had never before happened in the dream. Yuuri suddenly felt his heart grow cold.

_Wait, Makkachin_? he heard himself say. _What are you doing here_? An unspeakable thought formed in his mind. _You can’t be here, not yet! You’re supposed to be at home, with Victor! He’s waiting for you, you’re supposed to –_

And then all at once, everything ended, and in place of his frantic words and the sound of dogs, there was only the monotonous hum of the airplane’s engines, belching noise and smoke as it crossed the Sea of Japan. Beside him, a stranger snored fitfully.

Yuuri pulled his blanket tighter around him and waited for his wildly beating heart to calm down. Not that it did much good – the cabin felt strangely colder to him than usual, while the blanket itself, though big, seemed far too thin. Then again, he had already started feeling chilly when he performed his Free Skate, all the way back at the rink in Moscow. He hoped he wasn’t coming down with anything, especially not after he’d worked so hard just to get into the Grand Prix Finals again. If things _really_ came to that, he’d wear Victor’s jacket over his costume (simply because it was larger, and warmer) and skate with wads of tissue paper stuffed up his runny nose.

It was a ridiculous image, and Yuuri laughed despite himself. Instinctively, he turned to share the joke with Victor – because if anyone could somehow turn tissue paper into a viably fashionable accessory, it was him – before remembering, with a jolt, that Victor wasn’t there and stopping himself in time.

_That’s right_ , he thought numbly. _He’s with Makkachin in Hasetsu_.

And now slowly, insidiously, the dream crept back into his head, bringing with it a wave of memories and a short, sharp tingling behind his eyes. Yuuri made sure that the blanket now covered his face as well before he allowed himself to cry.

He knew what it was like to lose a pet – a companion – a friend. He knew those dull, dead days and those sleepless nights. The tastelessness of the food which he placed mechanically in his mouth. He’d watched the video Mari had sent him again and again and barely recognised himself in it, because the boy in the video spoke hollow words, empty words, made promises that even after five whole years he could not fulfil. And yet Vicchan had waited for him. He was a good boy, loyal and patient, and he had waited for him. But Yuuri never made it back to say goodbye.

It would be different for Victor and Makkachin. It _had_ to be, no matter what happened, because at least they were together. And if they were together, Victor would never have to go through what Yuuri did; untouched by guilt, he would spend his days in relative peace, mourning with both a clear heart as well as a clear mind. In Yuuri’s view, nothing could be more important than that, not even the Rostelecom Cup, and so despite his ultimately less-than-ideal placing in the competition, he did not regret pushing Victor to return to Hasetsu at all.

At least, not until now.

To be fair, it was not so much _regret_ that Yuuri was feeling, but rather the unmistakeable ache of _loneliness_ – an ache which, of course, he did his best to suppress, because it would be selfish of him, wouldn’t it (or so he said to himself), to want Victor to be there with him on the plane, when his place was clearly by Makkachin’s side right now? But it was a long journey, and painfully slow. On any other flight, Yuuri might have simply squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to sleep for the rest of the way, but over the past few plane rides he had grown somehow accustomed to having Victor sitting beside him, chattering away about anything and everything. It made the silence he was faced with now only all the more unbearable. And anyway, even if he did manage to sleep, there was still the chance that he would dream of Vicchan and Makkachin again, and Yuuri did not wish to risk it.

With a sigh, he rolled up his window blinds and gazed gloomily out into the unlit void. Victor had shown it to him once before – that precious shot of the sunrise taken just in time, welcoming him into Japan, into Kyushu, and later that evening, into Yuuri’s life. But right now, there was no sun in Yuuri’s sky; he stared as hard as he could, as if through sheer force of will alone he might somehow pierce through the endless murk and see into the heavens within. Yet the sky remained as stubbornly impenetrable as ever, and after five futile minutes he was ready to turn around and give up when at last something caught his eye. Something pinprick-small and silver-bright, flickering and winking shyly, almost hesitantly, as it emerged from behind a passing cloud. Yuuri’s heart leapt at the sight and he pressed his face closer to the glass. The blanket remained snugly draped over his head.

It was a trick he had learnt years ago, from Phichit. At the foot of Yuuri’s bed in front of the window, with all the dorm room lights turned off, they had huddled close together and looked out into a mostly starless night.

“It’s things like skyglow and white light that make them hard to see,” Phichit had explained sagely. “So what you do is to block them out as much as possible, and just keep on staring and staring at a dark patch of sky until more of them appear.”

Yuuri focused all his attention on the darkened area next to the star, just as he had done so long ago in Detroit, and sure enough, a second star soon appeared next to the first, while a third one was quick to follow. One by one, they blinked into existence, and filled the sky with something almost, but not quite, like life, trembling and pure.

A memory stirred, and Yuuri recalled a game he had used to play as a child, travelling with his family on long car rides across the Japanese countryside. Dozing against the window, he would imagine a little creature or animal (more often than not, it would be a puppy who bore a surprising resemblance to Vicchan) running alongside the car with him, and jumping from treetop to treetop. Now, looking out the airplane window, he decided to imagine himself – or at least a version of himself, clad in his Free Skate costume and small enough to balance upon a single star – doing much the same thing. It would, after all, be a good way to pass the time until he landed in Fukuoka. And anyway, it was a fun game, and playing it made him feel far younger than he truly was.

So on he jumped, from star to star, the plane unceasing and the world unheeding. Landings, at first, were hard to perfect, for stars were such tiny things, hanging in the vast expanse of the sky; sometimes he tripped, and sometimes he stumbled. But even so, he had always been a fast learner, and soon he grew bold enough to try more adventurous things.

He started with the quad toe loop, for it was comfortable and familiar. With the wind in his hair and starlight on his skin, he spun freely through the air, and the sensation of it all was so wild and so addictive that when he landed, neatly, on Polaris, he launched immediately into a double toe loop once again. Then he tried a quad Salchow, but this time he slipped and fell squarely onto a cloud. Yet what were clouds if not merely a fluffier sort of ice (or so Victor had once said, after his fifth cup of sake), and so instead of being disheartened, Yuuri simply got up and skated on. On Sirius he performed a camel spin, and on the hidden contrails of the plane, a flawless step sequence; across the length of the Cygnus constellation, he executed a perfect Ina Bauer.

And it was at this point that, despite his best efforts, Yuuri knew he must have accidentally fallen asleep, because his head grew heavy and the sky disappeared. But no nightmares plagued him, for in his dreams the game simply continued – he skated now along the Kuiper Belt, past the moons of Jupiter and the rings of Saturn, and then out beyond the Oort cloud and into the wide embrace of the universe itself. He did axels in Andromeda, and practised flips upon the rims of black holes; in clusters young and old, combination jumps; by nebulas that glowed a hundred different shades of violet, the Lutz and the loop.

Until it was time to perform the quad flip, and from the tip of a shining quasar he jumped, and turned, once, twice, three times, four –

For the first few seconds there was only silence – the soft, cold silence of space. Then, from somewhere far below his feet, there came a quiet roaring, growing ever nearer and louder. And then out of nowhere and all at once, a resounding burst – a brilliant rush – of noise and colour. Yuuri’s eyes snapped open, and although the stars were long gone now from his window, he saw in place of them the lights of the city, gleaming dawn-bright in the night. And on he jumped, across miniature streetlamps and skyscrapers alike, continuing to follow closely beside the plane, because the game was not yet over, the goal was still not reached.

But no sooner did he think that, however, than the view outside the window began to slowly change; the city lights, so varied and lively, fell away, just as the stars had done before them, and now Yuuri found himself hopping along two parallel rows of round white lights, the whine of the engine filling his ears entirely, and suddenly there was a bump – a jolt – the wheels touched the ground – the plane had landed – but still Yuuri jumped, on amber lights now, then blue, then green, because the plane was still moving and he wasn’t there yet but he would be, soon, not yet but soon –

And then everything rolled to a stop, the cabin door hissed open, and for Yuuri, reality took hold once more.

Gathering his things, he joined the throng of passengers heading towards the exit.

It was his turn, now, to finish the rest of the journey home.

* * *

**Hasetsu, Kyushu.**

The 11.33 train, bound for Hasetsu, wound slowly through the November night.

It was the last train for the evening, dutifully plying its final route before rumbling off to the depot, and so its carriages were mostly peaceful and empty. A mother played “I Spy” with her son (an incredibly difficult game to play so close to midnight in the darkened countryside); a worn salaryman clapped a pair of headphones over his ears and closed his eyes, dead to the world; the train conductor huddled in a corner and messaged his wife on his phone, telling her that his shift was almost ended, and that he would be home soon enough. And in the very last carriage, at the far end of the train, Yuuri and Victor sat side by side, watching the world go by. There was no one else in there with them other than Makkachin, who dozed contentedly at Yuuri’s feet.

“It would have been nice,” commented Yuuri, as they pulled out of Meinohama Station, “if I’d arrived during the daytime instead.”

Victor blinked at him curiously. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, it’s already close to the end of November now, isn’t it? Here in Kyushu, that’s when the autumn leaves are at their most beautiful. We call it koyo.”

And he went on to describe the forests and the trees: the wine-red maple, with its leaves the shape of fireworks, spreading endlessly out towards the sky; the ginkgo, shedding its fan-like foliage and surrounding itself with a sea of delicate gold. The winds blew in with a crackle and a whisper, sending the long grass dancing and the fallen leaves flying. And of course, there were the festivals, and all the food and music and games that could be found there. As autumn rolled its way across Japan, the whole country rose up in celebration to greet it.

“The view from the top of the castle is especially nice,” said Yuuri, concluding his little speech. “Have you had a chance to see it yet?”

Victor thought of his past couple of days in the country - the anxious waiting by Makkachin’s side, the clock ticking, the vet murmuring - and then how the air in his lungs had escaped all at once and he had sunk to the floor in complete and utter _relief_ as Makkachin turned to look at him and gave a weak, but grateful, bark. All was fine, the vet assured him, all was well, and so they’d managed to return home that very night.

In the common area downstairs, the Katsuki and Nishigori families had clustered together to watch the live telecast of the Rostelecom Cup. Victor had watched it too, of course, but just for that one night, he’d chosen to do so alone in his room, with only Makkachin for company. The volume had been kept at the lowest possible level. All the lights had been turned off.

When it was over, he’d glanced briefly out the open window. But the world outside was vague and colourless to him, and so he’d closed it, drawn the curtains, and went immediately to bed.

He hadn’t climbed to the top of the castle. And neither had he gone to the park beside it, nor to the rink that had come to grow so familiar to him over the past half a year. Instead, he had wandered the beach with Makkachin, and when evening arrived he had gone straight to the airport.

He decided, however, to keep all this to himself. It wasn’t exactly a happy topic of conversation, and even now the memory of it was starting to depress him. He would tell Yuuri about it still, of course; some far-off day in the future, perhaps in the summer, when everything was safe and quiet, he would talk to him about it, about those latent feelings of loneliness and inadequacy that surfaced, painfully, from time to time. But not right now.

Not yet.

It wouldn’t do, after all, to ruin the moment.

For there they were, the three of them, all lying snugly together; breathing, dreaming, they raced through the endless dark. In this single spot of time, Hasetsu seemed an eternity away. But Victor found that the distance didn’t bother him at all. Because for the longest time, he had merely meandered through life, dogged by a constant sense of restlessness, of placelessness. Now, as the train rattled on in the middle of nowhere, that old feeling had been replaced by a new one - a pleasant longing, a warm anticipation - a knowledge, sure and sincere, that somewhere out there was a house bathed entirely with light, and in which there were people awaiting their return. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but later - much later - when Hiroko threw open the door for them at Yu-topia Katsuki and Mari rolled their luggage in before they could even protest, Victor finally managed to put a name to it.

It was the feeling of coming home.

And so in reply to Yuuri’s question, he simply said, “No, I haven't.”

Yuuri’s next words surprised him.

“Would you like to go see it together then?” He’d turned to face the window, and seemed to be addressing the trees, the clouds, and the roads rushing by. “We can travel out of Hasetsu, like we did the last time. Go to Fukuoka again, or maybe even Dazaifu. If we go the day after tomorrow, we can catch the Autumn Leaves Festival at Kamado Shrine.”

Victor hadn’t expected this at all. It wouldn’t be long before they had to fly off again - to Barcelona this time - and so he’d assumed that Yuuri would want to spend as much time as possible practising. After the way his Free Skate had turned out in Moscow, Victor felt - no, he was _sure_ \- that Yuuri would come to be much harder on himself, on his steps and on his jumps, pushing himself to do more simply because he knew he could. Victor knew it too, and he was prepared to support him all the way. Yet, even so, he’d intended to suggest that they at least take a quick break before resuming practice again. Somehow, Yuuri had beaten him to it.

_Why?_

The question hung silently between them, like a bubble of words just waiting to spill out. Why this sudden suggestion, Victor wanted to know, when he might never have proposed such a thing before? Was it really just about viewing the scenery? And why won’t he face this way, Yuuri, why won’t you look at me?

But then he saw that the tips of Yuuri’s ears were bright red, and the way he fidgeted slightly, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands, his legs, himself. And all of a sudden, Victor found the answer to his last question.

“We weren’t together,” said Yuuri, still staring fixedly away from Victor. “On the plane from Moscow, that is. So this is just - I mean it could be - a way to maybe make up for it...”

He trailed off, too embarrassed to continue. Inching closer, Victor saw that by now his blush had spread to the back of his neck as well, and that his cheeks, too, were gradually turning pink. He squeezed his hand in encouragement, and Yuuri squeezed back. Together, they watched as the pale lights of Ikisan Station rose into view, and the train rolled to a stop. The salaryman alighted, yawning as he went, and in a little while they set off again, journeying now towards Chikuzen-Fukae Station in Itoshima. As the scenery outside grew dark once again, Victor rested his head on Yuuri’s shoulder and smiled.

“You don’t need to say anything,” he said, laughing softly. “I hear you loud and clear.”

Then, without missing a beat: “I missed you too, Yuuri.”

And, grateful that he had understood him in the end, Yuuri turned away at last from the window and smiled back.

“So, is that a yes?”

“Of course.” He shifted slightly and pressed a light kiss to the base of Yuuri’s neck. “Lead the way, Yuuri. I’ll stay close to you and follow.”

The carriage filled momentarily with a watery white light. The train had left the residential area of the city and travelled now across a vast open rice field. Frogs sang tunelessly, accompanied by the shrill chirrup of crickets. From behind the top of a distant mountain, the waning moon peeked shyly out. Leaning down, Yuuri reciprocated with a kiss of his own - only this time it was a proper one, on the lips, and long, and gentle, and loving.

“I look forward to it,” he said. And then the moon slipped back into obscurity, the field disappeared, and the train moved through the familiar apartment blocks and squat, grey houses of before. Feeling suddenly sleepy, he pulled away, reluctantly, and let out a yawn. “I’ll start to plan our itinerary once we get back.”

Victor peered at Yuuri concernedly, taking in his slumped posture and the puffiness around his eyes.

“Did you get enough sleep on the plane?” he asked.

Yuuri closed his eyes and hummed thoughtfully, wondering how much Victor would worry if he told him the truth. Eventually, however, he settled on admitting, a little sheepishly, “Not really.”

“Ah, I guessed as much.” _Me neither_ , he almost added, despite himself. Thankfully, however, he managed to stop himself in time. “Still, it’s a very long flight. What did you do to pass the time?”

“Well… I played a game with myself. It was pretty fun.”

“A game?” And Yuuri smiled at the note of child-like excitement he heard in Victor’s voice. “What kind of game was it?”

But already he was beginning to breathe lightly, coasting along the edges of sleep. In his mind’s eye, he chased Vicchan across the mountaintops, while Victor and Makkachin followed closely behind, running over ridges and rooftops, and along the power cables that hung languidly between the telephone poles. The forests spread out before them, redder than sunrises, and golden as the evening sky.

Yuuri yawned a second time.

“I’ll tell you when we go for our trip,” he said, resting his head against Victor’s. “We can play it together on the train.”

Outside, the night sky continued to hurtle past; the stars, dotting the landscape like fireflies, looked as though they were flying. Victor watched them speed past before disappearing behind buildings and houses.

“Are you going to sleep, Yuuri?”

“Mm, probably.”

“I’ll wake you up when we get home then.”

Beside him, Yuuri nestled even closer, and Victor thought he heard him make a soft sound of protest.

“You should sleep too,” he said. And before Victor could even form his reply, “You didn't manage to get much rest either, did you?”

“That's… you could tell?”

Yuuri only nodded. His hair tickled the side of Victor’s face, and he moved to smooth it back.

“But what if we miss our stop, Yuuri? Hasetsu isn't so far away now.”

Another yawn.

“Makkachin will wake us up. I trust him.”

At the sound of his name, Makkachin stirred and looked up expectantly. His tail thumped the floor.

“It's a promise then,” said Yuuri, almost inaudibly. And soon enough he began to snore.

For a while, Victor didn’t move, choosing instead to let his gaze linger upon the man he loved for just a moment more. Yuuri’s brows tended to furrow when he slept, while his lips remained permanently parted, as if frozen in some instant of surprise. Feeling his heart grow full at the sight of it, Victor resisted the urge to kiss him again.

So, taking care not to wake the other man, he reached down and scratched Makkachin behind the ears instead.

“I'm counting on you,” he instructed firmly.

“Woof!” Makkachin replied, and indeed (or so Victor thought) he sounded fairly confident somehow, as if he was sure of his ability to get the job done. Victor smiled down at him.

“Good boy.”

Then, taking a deep, satisfied breath, he too closed his eyes, and let dreams of Hasetsu, in all its rich autumnal glory, chase away the dark. Illuminating - like streetlamps in the night, or perhaps the myriad runway lights that ringed the airport - the winding, waiting, way back home.

* * *

**St. Petersburg, Russia.**

_The best thing about Victor’s apartment_ , mused Yuuri, as he stood in the doorway, _is the view_. Before him, splayed like a starfish across the length of his king-sized bed, snored Victor himself, clad in a set of fuzzy, poodle-themed pyjamas. Makkachin slept with him, curled into a ball on top of the pillow originally meant for his owner. A thick woolen blanket spilled off the side of the bed and onto the floor in a rumpled heap, along with a second pillow which had, presumably, been flung down there accidentally in the night.

It was five in the morning on a Sunday in April, and Yuuri was, once again, far too early.

Outside in the living room, he had propped his luggage against the bookshelf and dropped his bag onto the couch. His jacket had been draped upon the coat rack by the entrance, while his hat he now left on the bedside table, before moving to draw the curtains and throwing open the bedroom window. The sun had yet to rise, but already he could hear laughter and chatter coming from the street below. Dogs were being walked; seagulls cried; joggers did warm-ups on the spot and prepared to set off on their daily runs. In the distance, the waters of the Neva could be heard to gently plash, as a pair of passenger boats cruised leisurely along its surface.

Slowly, carefully, he sat himself down upon the edge of the bed. Makkachin’s eyes blinked open immediately, but before he could tackle him and offer a proper greeting, Yuuri hurriedly placed a finger to his lips.

_Shh_ , he mouthed desperately. _Not yet_.

And Makkachin, being a smart and well-trained dog, understood at once. Giving Yuuri a small lick on the nose, he sat back on his haunches and made not a sound. Yuuri ruffled his fur gratefully.

In truth, he wasn't meant to be anywhere near Russia right now, let alone Victor’s apartment in St. Petersburg. The plan was, in fact, to wait about another two more weeks, after all the noise and excitement of the season had died down and the world returned its attention to other, calmer, activities. But all of his bags were already packed, all his goodbyes said and well wishes received. He'd stood on the beach and watched the seagulls circle the setting sun, breathing in the crisp evening air. He’d borrowed the keys from Yuuko and skated alone in Ice Castle Hasetsu, treasuring the sound, the scrape of his blades against the ice; in that moment, the rink belonged solely to him, and he basked unseen in its familiar, comforting silence. And then, having nothing else left to do, he had gone to the airport to enquire about switching to an earlier flight, and by the following afternoon he was up in the air, travelling to the place that, for perhaps the next few years, would become his second home.

On the plane, he had kept careful watch of the sky, glancing out the window every now and again in search of some distant sunrise, or at the very least a hint of it, such as a streak of red marking the horizon, or a cloud with its edges lined in gold. At Pulkovo Airport, his gaze remained fixed to the numerous skylights that ran from end to end, while along the streets he made sure to keep his phone always at hand, fully charged and already open to the camera app. Yet in all that time, all he saw was the moon, nestled in a bed of fine dark cloud, along with a handful of stars that winked constantly in and out of view.

Even so, Yuuri remained hopeful, certain that he would get his picture, a companion to Victor’s own shot from almost a year ago. And now, as he sat on the bed and watched the sky begin to lighten, he knew he wouldn’t need to wait for much longer.

Because it was already that shade of pale, cornflower blue - somewhere between dark and light, day and night - almost like that brief surreal moment one sometimes experienced between wakefulness and sleep. The moon still hung in a corner of the sky, but it was smaller now, barely there, and practically see-through; the sun, on the other hand, lurked just beneath the horizon like an actor in the wings, ready to rise if only it was given the cue.

The thought struck him out of nowhere: this was the scene he would wake up to every morning from now on. A messy bed, a brilliant sky - Victor, ever the romantic, might have even likened it to sapphire. Every day, they would take turns to prepare breakfast while the other freshened up. Makkachin would be taken on his morning walks along the banks of the Neva, after which they would rush across to the ice rink on neighbouring Petrogradsky Island to begin their daily training with Yurio and the rest of the Russian team. In the evenings, they would take their time to walk slowly back home, picking up groceries along the way, or maybe flowers, or even gifts. And at night they would go to sleep together - with Makkachin claiming the pillow once more - and dream of a future outlined in gold. When all the jumps had been landed, and all the medals were won. When they reached the point where they were satisfied with what they had, and how far they had come. And when that day arrived, they would pack their things, thank the city for taking care of them, and move back together to the Katsuki household in Hasetsu. And after that, well, who knew what would happen? Certainly not Yuuri, and perhaps not even Victor. But there was no rush to come up with an answer - after all, they would have the rest of their lives to figure it out.

Outside, the world continued to hum with life. Someone greeted a friend - or perhaps a neighbour, or maybe even a stranger - with a cheerful _good morning_. In the apartment next door, a kettle whistled, the water just coming to a boil. And from behind the rooftops, beyond the towering spires and steepled domes, light began to pour forth in a rush of amber and gold. Like champagne from a bottle, it flowed across the sky, while the clouds bunched together like froth and foam.

Yuuri readied his phone. Then, making a split-second decision, he turned back around and placed his hand - softly, lightly - upon Victor’s face. Still, he didn't stir. Not even when Yuuri brushed the hair away from his forehead, nor when he leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss upon his temple.

But he did wake up, however, when Yuuri lay down beside him, put his mouth against his ear, and whispered, “I’m back.”

Much, much later in the day - when the sun was low in the sky once again, and the sound of laughter could be heard coming from the kitchen as Victor (and Makkachin) insisted on preparing a homemade welcome dinner - Yuuri would go on to post his first picture in a long time on his once-dormant Instagram account. In less than an hour, it would come to garner tens of thousands of likes; his friends in the figure skating world would spam him with texts and comments, while his fans would take to Twitter to speculate about the entire thing.

Because while its caption was simple enough - “first sunrise in st. petersburg” followed by a single sun emoji - the picture itself didn't showcase the Russian skyline at all. Instead, what it depicted was Victor - his hair mussed, his eyes wide, and remnants of drool just visible along the sides of his mouth. Sunlight dappled his clothes, and highlighted the ring on his finger in a blaze of burning gold. His lips parted slightly, as if he had been caught in the middle of asking a question.

What was he saying? Some teasing words? A heartfelt welcome? Now that the season was drawing to a close, had Yuuri moved to St. Petersburg to be with his partner? The online sphere was inundated with guesses. Some of them, like the latter, were right. Most others were wrong.

Because at the exact moment that Yuuri took the picture, all Victor had managed to say, in a voice thick with wonder and disbelief, was, “You're here.”

And Yuuri had replied, laughing as he spoke, “Yes, I’m here, I’m home.”

_End_.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! I hope you have a nice day today!!!


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